


apparition in the crowd

by sweetiejelly



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 12:13:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5127200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetiejelly/pseuds/sweetiejelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It's like seeing a ghost, a most put-together ghost, mind you, fedora slanted just so.</i>
</p><p>Or, Neal 1.0 meets Little Neal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	apparition in the crowd

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dreamer_98](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamer_98/gifts).



> Title taken from the poem "In a Station of the Metro" by Ezra Pound. Written so super belatedly for dreamer_98's birthday. I remember you mentioning that you liked the found family trope. So this is sort of that since I think of the Burkes and Neal as family, their histories forever entwined. Hope this little snippet is okay and such a belated happy birthday to you! <3

It's like seeing a ghost, a most put-together ghost, mind you, fedora slanted just so.

Peter lets out a sigh, a smile, involuntary.

"Neal."

"Yes, daddy?" The three foot tall Neal climbs into his lap, clingy as a monkey and full of youthful exuberance.

"Hey buddy." Peter smoothes the soft bangs out of his son's face. "Want to meet your namesake?"

Little Neal responds by sticking his thumb into his mouth. 

Yeah, they're working on it.

Gently, Peter tugs that thumb out. "Big boys don't suck on their thumbs, remember?"

Little Neal pouts and Neal 1.0 laughs, eyes bright. "You sure about that?" He says with a wink.

Peter blushes and shakes his head. Really, it's like having two kids.

"Mozzie didn't tell us you were back."

"Uncle Mozzie!" Little Neal bounces, grinning. Both Neals are rather fond of Mozzie.

Peter smiles ruefully. His life, really.

"That's because he doesn't know yet. You guys are my first stop." Neal smiles at him, at them, hands tucked into his pockets, stance easy as you please and not at all like a dead fugitive resurfaced out of nowhere. (Or, well, out of Paris, on the edge of the first arrondissement, if his last tracking data was correct.)

Little Neal studies him intensely. Elizabeth would say it's his artistic nature taking over, cataloging a shape, a color palette, a mood. Peter would sooner have his son be nowhere near the road to being a con artist. Nothing to do with the arts at all would be his preference. In fact, what would be amazing is if his Neal would follow in his footsteps and join the bureau one day. (He can just hear Moz calling him "Little Suit.")

But, well, they have time yet. Little Neal is only three years old.

"You sure you should have made this stop?"

Neal laughs, eyes crinkling, scrubbing away the last image Peter had of him - dead, cold, and so un-Neal-like it made him want to puke. "Not at all, Peter, not at all." He crouches down and studies little Neal right back.

"Hello," Neal holds out his hand. "Nice to meet you. Your daddy and I used to work together."

Peter snorts at the abridged version of their history.

"Neal, buddy, this is the Neal we talked about. He was my partner at the bureau."

Little Neal nestles back against him even as he extends his hand for a shake. Peter knows the feeling - how Neal affects both push and pull within him.

"How long are you staying?" Peter couldn't help the worry that creeps into his voice. The thing about being wanted is that you have to keep running. And Neal is standing still right now, so still, an easy target without his disguises.

"Not long. Don't worry."

Peter glares at him. "I wasn't worried."

"Of course not." Mischief dances in Neal's eyes as he stands.

"Come to dinner." The invite rushes out before Peter could consider it thoroughly (at all). "Six."

Neal tips his hat. _Sure thing, chief._ "I'll bring a bottle."

Peter snorts at the retreating back. He bet he knows just which bottle, too. It's going to be some dinner.

He can't wait. After all, his whole family's going to be there.


End file.
